Rules for Perfect Murders - Peter Swanson Page 0,68

production of Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale; it included a line drawing of a bear with a crown on its head. I did notice that except for the bottle on the floor in front of the sofa I’d seen no other signs of liquor in the house.

I slowly backed away into the dining room, and then the kitchen. I looked around there for liquor, as well, but didn’t see any. I opened his refrigerator. It was sparse inside, but there was a six-pack of beer on the top shelf, although looking at it closely I realized that it was nonalcoholic. I shut the refrigerator door, wondering if it would be worth it to look around the house some more, or if it would be foolish to stay any longer. I knew what had happened here, of course, although I hadn’t completely processed it yet. It was Malice Aforethought. In that book a woman who is a drug addict is killed with a drug overdose, making it look like an accident. Pruitt was an obvious recovering alcoholic, but Charlie had somehow gotten him to drink again, gotten him to drink a fatal amount. Or at least to make it look like he had.

Chirping sounds, like crickets, suddenly filled the kitchen and I jumped, my heart ratcheting up to full speed. It was Pruitt’s phone, charging by the toaster on the kitchen counter. I went and looked at the screen. The person calling him was named Tamara Strahovski. I guessed that it was the TA, checking in once more. How soon before she called the police, asking for a wellness check? I had no idea of knowing. I made a quick decision to briefly look through the house—a five-minute search.

The kitchen had two doors and I went through the other one. It led to a back hallway, a half bathroom, and a room that was Pruitt’s office. There was a standing desk, a laptop propped open on it, and more shelves, most of these filled with endless copies of his own book, Little Fish. I knew from visiting Brian Murray’s home that authors got a number of their own editions, but not as many as there were in here. Little Fish filled two bookshelves and there were stacks along the floor. It looked to be in the hundreds. I wondered if he’d bought copies of his own books, maybe to boost sales. From the office I worked quickly down a side hall that led to the stairs. At the top of the landing I peered into Pruitt’s bedroom, messier than any of the rooms downstairs. And sparser, as well. There was a pile of clothes on the floor, an unmade bed, and another hand-drawn theater poster framed on the wall. This time for Twelfth Night. I was able to get a better look at this poster. It was a production of the New Essex Community Playhouse, and the director was Nicholas Pruitt. Before leaving the bedroom, I glanced at the top of his bureau, cluttered with framed photographs, most of them old family shots, although I recognized a picture of Jillian Nguyen, posing with Pruitt in front of what looked like the reconstruction of the Globe Theatre in London.

I let myself out the back door and returned the key underneath the potted rosemary. Then I got back into my car and drove home to Boston.

CHAPTER 22

I hadn’t gone back onto Duckburg since 2010, when I’d arranged the murder swap. But I was thinking I needed to revisit the site now, just in case I could get in contact with Charlie. As far as I knew I still had the site bookmarked on my work computer. It was early afternoon, and I walked from home to the Old Devils. Every time I blinked, I could see Nick Pruitt’s lifeless body sitting placidly on his sofa, his head tipped back, and his mouth hanging open.

I pushed through the door. Emily was behind the register ringing up a sale, and I heard Brandon before I saw him. “The gang’s all here,” he said in his loud voice. He was crouched to my left, hunting one of the lower shelves, probably trying to find a book for an online order.

“Just for a while,” I said. “Sorry I’ve left you two alone so much lately.”

“What’s going on with you?” Brandon said, standing now, holding a copy of John le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold.

“Honestly,” I said, “I haven’t been feeling too well.” It was